Boys and Burlesque Page 3

  Thursday night prayer circle was when the active church ladies got together to decide where their energy would be best spent. They worked out meal trains, and who needed a visit in the hospital between gossiping about who wouldn’t be in the hospital if they’d given up drinking, and whose children were no-good, useless wastes of space.

  “Okay,” I replied, disappointed that I had to leave Lan so soon. Also, I didn’t like leaving him with Em. I trusted him, I did, but I didn’t trust Em.

  Sending him shots of her cleavage. It took all my self-control not to kick her after I stood. But Landry stood, too. “I have to follow them to help Wes load Brant’s bike onto the back of his truck. Sorry, Em. Rain check?” He smiled at her, and she melted beneath his gaze.

  “Of course,” she said. She looked out the window where Wes was waiting. “I can bring you to church, Betsy. If you want.”

  I didn’t want, but I’d have to accept. Fortunately, I was saved when the rest of our dance class arrived and waved madly at Em. At least now I had an excuse. “That’s okay,” I said. “Everyone just got here.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, already standing.

  “Totally,” I replied. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow anyway.”

  The girls from class surrounded her. Em waved, and we headed toward the door.

  “Do I really have to go to church?” I asked Landry quietly.

  He bent his head toward me to hear over the high-pitched squeals of the other girls and shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s all Wes.”

  Ever the gentleman, Lan walked me all the way to Wes’s car and opened the door. Of course, the moment it opened it became a shield between me and the rest of the restaurant, and he used the opportunity to pinch my ass.

  I jumped into the truck to get away from his grabby hands. “Landry!”

  “Don’t blame me,” he joked. “You’re the one with the pinchable ass.”

  “Oh my god.” I rolled my eyes and glanced toward Wes for support, but he just shook his head. “You know I want my hands on your ass as much as possible.”

  The comment made goosebumps erupt over my skin. Then Lan leaned inside the truck, bracing his arm against the door in a way that made his muscles flex and held out his hand for Wes to bump. “You said it.”

  As he drew back, he dropped his hand to my knee and squeezed. “Goosebumps?” He ran his hand from my knee up to my thigh until it hit the cuff of my shorts. “God damn, Bets.”

  “We’re meeting at Brant’s,” Wes said. “I told your grandmother I needed you to work on a project, so we’re good. Josh is stuck at home. His dad wanted to have a heart-to-heart.” Wes dropped his gaze from Landry to where his fingers began to creep beneath my shorts. He gave me a wicked smile and revved the engine. “I get her for the ride,” he said to Lan. “Reverend Morehouse’s orders.”

  Groaning, Lan removed his hand from my leg and backed away from the truck. “Don’t take the long way,” he commanded.

  “Jesus take the wheel,” Wes teased.

  Four

  Landry

  I watched Wes pull away with our girl and swore under my breath. If I had Bets all to myself for fifteen minutes, I bet I could have made her come at least twice before we got to church.

  My dick was hard, and I had to adjust myself. Glancing up, I caught Em watching me through the window, and I lifted my hand in a wave. A little wrinkle appeared between her eyes, but she waved back.

  Had she caught me?

  We were careful with Bets. Our relationship was thrilling and forbidden, and had to remain a secret. But it was worth it. There was nothing in this entire world that I wanted more than her.

  I’d gotten to touch her tonight, even if it was for just a few moments. Her skin had been so smooth beneath my fingers, and the sound she’d made when I pressed my thumb against her instep…

  I’d heard her make that noise before, except that time her thighs had been spread out wide for me.

  I sidestepped to my car and got inside before I drew any more attention to myself. Once I was behind the wheel, I laughed. It wasn’t like anyone could blame me for having a constant hard-on. Betsy was every man’s wet dream. The thing was, though, I knew she was more than that. I knew what made her so sexy and appealing, so if other guys only saw her beautiful body, then they didn’t know half of what made her unique, and that made her all the more mine.

  I had loved that girl when she wasn’t pretty. When she was all skinny elbows and pointy knees, and huge heart.

  Twelve years old, but the second that girl fell in love with me, I knew it. My dad might call me a worthless little shit, and my mom might ignore me and fall into an alcohol-induced post-lunch coma, but I recognized adoration when I saw it.

  No one loved me the way Betsy loved me.

  It probably made me selfish, but I loved who I was when she looked at me. She made me feel strong and smart, and like I could rule the fucking world.

  “Do you think anyone gives a shit about you, Landry? You’d be nothing if it wasn’t for your last name. Don’t you dare forget where you came from and what you owe me!” My dad’s voice rang in my ears.

  Perception was a funny thing. People probably envied my charmed life. But those people didn’t know anything. Let them think I was an old money blue blood bound to run the family business just like every Shaw before me. After all, I’d done nothing to deserve what I had. I hadn’t earned my nice car. I hadn’t run for homecoming king. I hadn’t thrown my name into the ring to be team captain of the baseball team.

  I hadn’t even run for class president—but I’d won it.

  It wasn’t what I wanted. Every time I faked my way through life, it chipped away at my soul and turned me into someone I didn’t like.

  If it weren’t for Betsy, maybe I’d be that person. My parents would have broken me down until my only identity was Shaw. But Betsy kept the best parts of me. She kept those rough edges, the edges my father hated, from being smoothed into blandness and predictability.

  The person she saw in me was the person I wanted to be, and what was more? She made me want to work for it.

  Betsy was mine, and maybe I hadn’t had to work for her or fight for her, but I sure as hell planned to keep her.

  Five

  Betsy

  Westin Morehouse. Whenever I looked at him, I sighed his name. Hidden tattoos and a smile that promised wickedness.

  God. I loved him.

  “You been teasing Lan?” he asked me as he drove, one arm draped over the steering wheel. He leaned over suddenly, cupping his arm around my leg to drag me against his side. “You’re too damn far away over there.”

  He kept his arm over my legs, his rough palm tucked under me, and I leaned my head on his shoulder. “Did your dad really send you after me?”

  Wes snorted. He didn’t have a lot of respect for his father, and he seemed to revel in any small rebellion. It was his way of sticking it to the man who kept his parishioners under his thumb with sermons about sin and hellfire.

  “I hinted at it and the old ladies liked the idea so much, they insisted I come get you. Being a gentleman, I quickly agreed.” Taking his eyes off the road for a moment, he kissed me on the side of my neck, and I groaned. Wes stayed scruffy during the week, shaving only on Sunday, and his beard tickled. I’d finished many dates with my chin red and irritated. Poor Josh. He was the one who got fussed at over it. Not the guilty boy whose lips were lifted in a half smile.

  I’d lifted my head from his shoulder when he kissed me, so I studied him. “Did you do something different with your hair?”

  His pale skin flushed. It was his one downfall. That pale skin broadcasted his anger and excitement, his embarrassment and arousal. He could hold your stare as he lied to your face, bold as brass, but the tips of those ears would turn pink, and I’d know he was telling tales.

  “It looks nice!” I was quick to add. He’d slicked the black strands back and to one side. “You look like Elvis.”

  He barked
a laugh. “Yeah?”

  “Mmhmm. What’s your daddy think?” Pastor Morehouse had a lot to say about the way people looked. I’d caught him staring at me many Sundays, even though my dress went to my ankles, my chest was fully covered, and I wore hose.

  “Our town’s pastor is praying for my soul as we speak,” Wes said. “And for yours. Proverbs 5:6, Westin, she staggers down a crooked path and doesn’t realize it.”

  Wes laughed, but I didn’t. I wouldn’t give up one of these men, not for anything, but Pastor Morehouse felt dangerous. His voice carried a lot of weight, especially with my grandmother, and if he found out about us… I was still seventeen, and Gram was my guardian. She was as protective as hell, and if she thought it was in my best interest, I didn’t put it past her to send me to an all girl’s school as far away as she could afford.

  Wes nudged me. “Don’t worry, darlin’, the old man couldn’t fathom what we’re doing.”

  The way he said that, with a wider smile, made my stomach clench. “You’re not with me because he won’t like it, are you?”

  I loved Wes, but he’d never told me he loved me. He kissed me and held me, and his blue eyes got so hot when he ran his hands over my body, but he kept those words to himself.

  A smarter girl would have held back. She would wait for the words. But I’d known this boy since we were running around with dirty bare feet and daring each other to climb to the top of Miss Della’s willow tree. I’d held him when he cried after he broke his collarbone and missed the first weeks of summer football practice our freshman year.

  But sometimes… sometimes that boy felt very different than the one currently sneaking his fingers between my legs to press a hot palm against the zipper of my shorts.

  “Wes. Don’t distract me.”

  “You’re the distracting one.” His voice was low and raspy in my ear, and I shivered.

  “Fuck.” He pulled off the main road, driving down a dirt path to the access point of Shaw Pond. We’d been here before, groping and dry humping.

  It was quiet and no one would see the headlights from the main road, even though it was less than a mile from the pavement.

  Wes shut the truck off and grabbed me, pulling me onto his lap so I straddled him. His fingers, which he’d snuck beneath my shirt, drew circles on my sides.

  This was when my brain shut off and I turned into a creature of feeling. I had needs and desires, but I had no logic. The consequences of sitting in a dark car with a boy who wasn’t my identified boyfriend, and just happened to be the pastor’s son, would have made that smart girl I was talking about earlier, careful.

  I wasn’t.

  Wes was smiling as he kissed my lips then down my neck, so I had to suck in a breath to get air to my addled brain. My lungs wanted to burst and so did my heart.

  “I love you,” I whispered to him as he bit his way across my chin and yanked my shirt over my head.

  “Betsy.” My name was a moan, and then I was coming up on my knees, dragging my pants down my hips along with my underwear. I could feel him beneath me, fumbling with his jeans to free his cock.

  And then it was him. Long. Hard. So hot. His thick-mushroomed tip pressed against me, but he didn’t thrust into me.

  Instead, Wes calmed.

  He slowed us down. “We only have one first time,” he whispered. He slipped his hand between my legs, touching me until I was grinding and gasping.

  “Westin. I love you.”

  I wanted him closer. In me. All around me. Later on, when I took a breath, I wanted to taste him on my tongue and smell him on my skin. With one hand, I lined him up with my core and grabbed the handle above the door with the other.

  I couldn’t see his eyes, but I could feel them on me. They were two flickering flames in the darkness, burning me with heat.

  “I love you.”

  His breath was ragged as he thrust into me and I cried out. He stilled. “Betsy. Christ. I’m sorry.”

  “No,” I replied. “It feels so good.”

  “Thank God.” Hands on my hips, he rocked me back and forth, dragging my mound over against the base of his dick. He rolled against me like a wave, and something began to change. He wasn’t touching my clit, but he was building me higher and higher.

  I cupped his face, holding him still so I could kiss him and then draw back. My eyesight had adjusted to the darkness and his beautiful pale face was tipped toward mine, his eyes on me.

  Sweat dripped down my back, like the fire he built in my middle was spreading over my skin. I shut my eyes, but his hands left my hips and went to my face. “Eyes open,” he ground out.

  Watching him watch me as my body ignited was too much. He palmed my breasts, rolling my nipples between his fingers, and my inner muscles clamped tight.

  Surprised, he cried out and I pulled him against me. Our climaxes overtook us. He pistoned inside me, and then held himself there, jerking and thickening.

  “My Betsy.” He finally stilled and shifted, and when he did, warmth spilled out of me and onto his lap. “Do you know how long I’ve wondered how you’d feel?”

  I shook my head because I wasn’t able to speak yet. He didn’t know how much being with him meant to me. I wasn’t able to give him nice things. I wouldn’t be able to help him with books or equipment when he went with Josh to Samford, but I could give him me.

  I gave it freely, and with no strings attached.

  Westin Morehouse had my heart, and even if he couldn’t tell me, I knew I had his.

  It took us only a few minutes to get cleaned up. Wes fixed his hair, and I tied mine back from my face. My chin was a little red, but I could use dance as an excuse. My face would flush red after hours of dancing. I’d just tell Gram I’d overexerted myself.

  “So—” Wes shifted on his seat, scooting a little ways from me before draping his arm back over the wheel. “I need to talk to you about something.”

  We were almost to the church. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” he answered quickly. “It’s just that we’ve got the Final Fling coming up, and Mom really wants me to go with Leah Cartwell. I’ve been putting off asking her, but her mom was talking about it tonight. I’m not sure how much longer I can avoid it.”

  “Oh,” I replied. “You’re going?”

  “It’s the last dance,” he answered. His thumb tapped a rhythm on the steering wheel and when a car went by, I could see his neck was flushed. “I talked to the guys, we’ll all go together. You and Josh. Brant and Violet. Me and Leah. Lan and—”

  “Em,” I finished.

  How selfish was it of me not to want to share them? But we’d decided this long ago. In public, Josh and I were together. I had to be with one of them, otherwise why would a girl be hanging around four boys all the time?

  And it had to be the same boy. If I started with Josh and left him to be with Wes, everyone would expect there to be a rift. And if there wasn’t?

  Tongues would wag.

  Eyebrows would lift.

  “I hate secrets,” I said, allowing myself a moment to be bitter and jealous.

  “I know.” Wes took my hand and lifted it to his lips. But he didn’t kiss my hand, he kissed my ring. “Remember our promise?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think of it every day,” he said as the lights from the church came into view. “I think about moving to Birmingham and running out onto the football field. I imagine you in the stands, wearing our colors, screaming your head off for me and Josh. I think of us, far away from here, you and me, and my best friends in the entire world, and we’re away from all this bullshit. And nothing can touch us.”

  He stopped the truck and turned to face me. “Just a little longer, Betsy. We’re almost there.”

  The doors to the church opened, propped open by Pastor Morehouse. Gram and her friends came into view, squinting into the darkness as they gripped the handrail and started carefully down the steps.

  “Almost there,” I repeated.

  Wes jumped out o
f the car and ran around the front to open mine. Then he gave me his hand, just like the gentleman he truly was (even if he didn’t want to be) and helped me out.

  “Elizabeth!” My grandmother’s voice, made raspy by years of secretly smoking, called out to me. “There you are! Westin brought you just in time.”

  She held onto the railing, waiting until I got to her and then wrapped her arm around my elbow. “Thank you, Westin.”

  “You’re welcome, Miss Laura.” He smiled at her, and Gram smiled back a little too sweetly. Uh oh.

  “Elizabeth, sweetheart, you don’t mind drivin’, do you?”

  “No, ma’am,” I answered, taking the keys to her ancient Buick.

  Her fingers dug into my skin as we started to the car, but she waved to her friends with her free hand. “See you Sunday, Veronica. Tell Bates I send my best, Susanne!”

  I unlocked her door first and opened it, waiting for her to get in before I went around to the other side. Throwing my bag in back, I glanced back toward Wes, but he was gone.

  “How was prayer?” I asked Gram when I was in the driver’s seat.

  “Don’t how was prayer, me, young lady. It takes fifteen minutes round trip from the Dairy Queen to Church, and Westin was gone thirty. Don’t think for one second that I don’t know what was happening.”

  I kept my eyes trained on the road and refused to glance her way. “I was there with Emerson and Landry,” I told her. “We hung out for a little while before I left with Westin.”

  If a lady snorted, then that was the sound my grandmother made. “Please. You think I don’t know what Emerson is? A beard?”

  “A beard? Landry’s not gay, Gram.”

  “Elizabeth Lauren Belle Bartlett. Who said anything about gay? He is using that girl so people don’t know he’s in love with you. I’ve got eyes, girl. I see things.”